The Bells
by Keera Tasuma
Summary: Shortly after the Hookman Case and Bloody Mary, the Winchester brothers arrive in Linsten Mass, the site of several mysterious deaths. Sam is finally ready to take part in the "family business," and sets to investigating the spirit causing the accidents. The catch? Dean's horrible sense of humor. Contains gay themes.
1. Chapter 1: A New Mission

1: A New Mission

Linsten, Mass.

"Okay, remind me again why we've come to the country's gay capital?" Sam leaned against the car and examined the rather ordinary, if a bit gaily painted town with raised eyebrows. His brother did one of his half-laugh-half-snorts.

"They're only _running_ for gay capital. Chill out, Sammy."

"It's Sam." Dean shrugged, and Sam blew an irritated breath into the cool air. "Fine, so what's this big issue that we just _had_ to drive through five states for?" Dean pulled a neatly folded newspaper clipping from the front pocket of his trademark leather jacket and tapped it with his index finger.

"Look at this; five deaths in two months, all in this town." Sam leaned closer and frowned.

"It could just be, I don't know, a serial killer or something. Why is it _our_ problem?"

"Look here," Dean pointed again, "They all died the same way. Fell down the stairs in the night and broke their necks." Sam sighed and looked about, as if the answer to the mystery would be hovering by his shoulder.

"Okay, so what do the local police say?" He asked the question reluctantly. After a moment of rummaging, Dean produced another clipping, this one from a different paper, and held it next to the first. Sam read the paragraph his brother had circled. "Right, so the first two were labeled as accidents, but after the third and fourth deaths occurred within a week of each other they began calling it a string of suicides."

Dean grinned. "Typical. Local cops never know what they're dealing with. So," he raised an eyebrow, "think this might be worth looking into?" Sam looked around again and sighed.

"Yeah, let's go."

Their first stop was the local café, a small yet well-maintained place called _The Yellow Plate_. Naturally, all the seats, dishes, and the waitress' aprons were a bright, sunshine yellow. Sam was tempted to barf. Dean, as if they _hadn't _just stepped into the most embarrassing place to dine of all time, swaggered right up to the nearest waitress, a slender blonde with large green eyes, and requested a table. She looked up and saw Sam standing behind Dean and smiled dazzlingly.

"Table for two," she practically hummed as she wandered across the room to set one of the glaring tables with that ridiculous cutlery.

_For heaven's sake, even the silverware is yellow? What the hell?_ She directed them to the colorful booth and Sam sat down somewhat unenthusiastically. In contrast, Dean smiled and chatted with the girl about the weather and the price of gas, with much winking and smiling as he settled in his seat. Sam suppressed a groan.

"So," Dean finally got to the question they needed answered, "what's happening around here? I heard that there was a fifth death only last week." Their server's smile froze, as did her hand over the order pad she had just whipped out. Sam, familiar with his brother's lack of tact, quickly ordered two coffees, which seemed to relax the girl somewhat, and then took up the questioning with a disapproving glance at Dean, who snorted softly and glared out the window.

"You see, we were thinking about trying to find a house in this town, but suspicious stories make a person nervous. We figured a local would be able to help us out." Sam tried to keep his face open and honest. The waitress, whose name-tag read "Amy," began tapping her pad with the pen.

"It is somewhat suspicious, all those boys falling down stairs," she said after a moment, still tapping, "I knew Joe and Parker; they used to come in for waffles together, every Saturday. Neither one would ever commit suicide." Dean decided to reenter the conversation, turning around to ask,

"These two, were they together?" Sam tried not to purse his lips like an old man at his brother's inquiry. Amy smiled a little bit.

"They celebrated their two year anniversary here, just a few days before Joe died."

"Okay, that was extremely awkward," Sam fumed as they left the café. Dean chuckled, and Sam rounded on him instantly. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?" He gave his grinning brother a shove with his shoulder and slammed the door as he got into the car. Dean got into the driver's seat shaking his head. He looked very much the cool brother with his close shave and earring, so different from Sam's curly brown hair and beat-up jacket.

"Respect the car, Sammy." Sam groaned, but then returned to the issue at hand.

"Okay, we know that suicide isn't likely, so it must be something else. What did the victims have in common?" Dean licked his lips and cracked his neck in a rather unappealing way. Sam felt a sneaking suspicion…

"Every one of them was gay." Dean smiled sheepishly. Sam stared.

"I hate you."


	2. Chapter 2: Bells and Blood

2: Bells and Blood

_Drip. Drip. Dr~ip. He opened his eyes slowly, filled with a terrifying feeling of foreboding. Jessica stared down at him, her mouth gaping as though to gasp, or to scream. The blood dripped from the gash in her stomach, staining her silken nightgown. Her arms and legs splayed about her as though she had been thrown against the ceiling where she now lay. "No, __**NO!" **__Sam felt the terror and helplessness tearing at him. The flames blossomed around her, her beautiful golden curls crackling as she burned. __**"NOOOOOOOOOOOO!"**_

"Sam! Sammy! SAM!" Dean was shaking him. For a moment their eyes locked, and Sam realized how scared his brother really was. Sam blinked slowly.

"Dean…" His brother gave a lopsided smile, as though nothing at all had happened, and the moment of connection was lost.

"Hey, sleeping beauty." Sam sat up, feeling the sweat that had soaked through his shirt cling to his skin. Dean watched for a moment, and seemed as though he wanted to say something. After a minute he sighed quietly and slapped Sam's shoulder. "Come on, we've got work to do."

The Linsten Library was an old brick building covered in smiles and rainbow graffiti that no one had bothered (or wanted) to remove. Sam shared a look with his brother, who shrugged and led the way in. As per their usual tactics, they requested arrest records and police reports, as far back as they could go, and were soon burying themselves in stacks of dusty papers and books that smelled faintly of mildew. Dean grumbled that "They really should get a computer around here," and Sam chuckled. Still, it was Dean who found what they were looking for. "Hey, look at this guy." He presented Sam with a black-and-white photo of a tall, thin man in a preacher's robes. He read the caption,

"Roger Helmsworth, pastor of Linsten's Catholic church in the nineteen-eighties. And this," he pulled a yellowing report from his pile, "It says that he was completely against all same-sex relationships, which where common here even then, though not as much as today. He preached that such things were the ultimate sin against the way of God." Sam scanned the paper and pointed at a slightly faded section.

"And there's this; He broke into three homes and strangled the couples in their sleep, but on his fourth break-in they were awake. He was caught, and during the struggle he fell down a staircase… breaking his neck." Dean was nodding.

"Sounds like our guy," he said, but Sam sat back in his chair with a frown. "What is it?"

Sam shook his head. "Why is he still here?" Dean scratched his ear.

"Remember the Hookman case, the preacher punishing immorality, and Bloody Mary punishing murders? I think it's the same thing." He grinned. "So we find and salt the bones, and then light 'em up." Sam groaned.

"It's always salt the bones, "burn the bones" you say, but we can't always _find _the bones. And yes, I remember the Hookman case, and salting the bones _didn't work._" He crossed his arms in front of his chest and stared his brother down. Dean fixed his smile on his face.

"We'll figure something out," he said with false cheer. Sam sighed, gathering up the rest of the papers.

"I'll take these back up to the archive. If it makes you happy, figure out where the guy's buried." Keeping careful hold of the files, Sam headed up the stairs. When he paused at the third landing to look down at his brother, busily turning pages, he felt a prickling sensation as the hairs on the back of his neck began to rise. A dry, crackling voice, almost like the static of a phone line, but filled with malice, hissed in his ear,

_"Leave this town."_ Someone pushed him, and Sam began to fall.

"Shut _up _already. I'm fine, Dean," Sam sighed as they left the hospital. His brother didn't look convinced. Sam sighed again. "It was only a few bruises. Since when are you such a caring big brother?" He expected one of Dean's smart-ass retorts, yet received nothing but a half-hearted glare. Sam punched his brother in the shoulder, trying to mimic Dean's classic spirit-hunting attitude. "Come on, it's personal now. Let's go get the damn ghost." A grin found its way to Dean's face.

"Right. Let's start with the church." The church happened to be an old, squat structure with peeling white paint and a "condemned" sign out front. The two brothers climbed over the wire fencing without so much as batting an eyelash, though Dean seemed mildly disappointed that the lack of security meant he wouldn't have to use any of his illegal counterfeit I.D. cards.

Stepping inside the musty sanctuary, Sam looked around, keeping all his senses open and aware. Dean was right behind him, carefully taking in every hole in the floor, (there were many) and each out-of-place noise. Sam took it upon himself to go up the rotting stairs to the belfry. As he reached the top, he heard the crackling voice once again, this time without any forewarning. _"Leave this town or you will DIE!"_ The touch of the spirit was like ice. He was pushed with far more force than before, and found himself falling once again as the rusted church bell began to ring.

_Dong. Dong. Dong. Dong._ Sam tried to catch himself on something, anything, but the ancient wooden stairs crumbled even as he tumbled down them, splinters and nails cutting his hands and his face when it hit the steps. When at last he landed heavily at ground level once more, Dean came running, a look of surprise that quickly turned to anger stamped across his face. Sam spit blood, pushing himself painfully onto his hands and knees. "I'm okay," he muttered.

"Like _hell_ you're okay!" Dean growled, helping him up. "You idiot, why'd you go up there?" Sam blinked double images from his eyes.

"To find Helmsworth." He shook his head slightly in a _obviously_ sort of gesture. "I found him." Dean rolled his eyes.

"Sure you did. And he almost killed you." Sam accepted the proffered shoulder and leaned heavily on his brother.

"He said "Leave this town," at the library, and again just now. We must be getting closer." Dean sighed heavily.

"Let's get back to the hotel."

"This doesn't make any sense." Dean threw down the latest newspaper with a expression of disgust. "We came here because of the frequent deaths, but since we got here there's been nothing at all. What's happening?" Sam looked up from peeling Band-Aids off his hands and offered an opinion.

"I think you were right originally. He was punishing "immorality." But since we don't fit that bill, he won't really kill us. When he failed to scare us off, he decided to lay low until we leave."

"Great," Dean threw up his hands in exasperation, "we've got a malignant spirit who's _clever. _ Damn." He kicked the bed for good measure. Sam shook his head at the display, flexing his sore hands. "It's been four days since he attacked you," Dean grumbled as he began to pace the length of their room, his feet sinking into the beige carpet. He followed Sam when his brother walked out of the room, down the hall and out into the chilled air of the evening. "We have to draw him out," he insisted. Sam stretched, throwing a few punches and kicks to test his mobility.

"And how would we do that?" he asked, not really paying attention.

"The same way all the other guys did." Sam froze mid-kick, turning to his delusional brother.

"You're kidding." Dean's face was perfectly serious. Sam bit his lip and rolled his head until he was looking at his brother sideways. "You're not kidding." He turned away again.

"Sam –"

"No, no, NO. You know what?" Sam held his hand out as though keeping his brother at bay, "I'll take the car and go find some other job. Call me when you're done, and I'll pick you up." Dean followed him with a look that was half pleading, half annoyed.

"Sam, come on –" Sam was not interested in listening.

"N-O. **NO. **You expect to do something like that because some obsessive homophobe lost his ticket to hell? No. Way.**" **Apparently annoyed won out, and Dean grabbed Sam firmly by the shoulders.

"It's for the job, Sam," he said. Sam met his eyes unwillingly. "It's all to get rid of this guy. Saving people, remember?" Dean shook him a little. Sam winced as an image of blood and fire whispered through his mind.

"I hate you." But his heart wasn't in it.


	3. A NOTICE FROM THE AUTHOR

**A NOTICE FROM THE AUTHOR:**

**Dear Readers,**

**I chose a terrible time to become ill, and now find myself faced with midterm exams. Because of the current schedule, all of my projects will be put on hold until after Christmas. I wish you all a wonderful Holiday Season, whatever you celebrate.**

**-Keera Tasuma**


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